


Three Heirs

by theelusiveflamingo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Aerys is a walking trigger warning, F/M, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Targaryen Feelings, Written before WOIAF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/pseuds/theelusiveflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the " Aerys trying to get Joanna, Tywin and Rhaella pregnant. Kinky and abusive," prompt for Flea Bottom Fic Exchange on Tumblr.</p><p>Please note that this was written before WOIAF was released.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Heirs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tasare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasare/gifts).



I.

 _There was a dragonrider once,_ _long before the Conquest, a great dragonrider and dragonlord named Aerys._

When Aerys was but a babe, he hated sitting still for lessons.  He would squirm on the pillows he was made to sit on, his feet kicking at the chair, the septon threatening to send for the whipping boy if he couldn’t sit and listen.  And then he mentioned Aerys, the lord of Dragonstone, and from then on everything changed.  If Aerys worked hard at his sums and his penmanship, at the end of the lesson, Septon Lard-Ass would read a bit about the ancient Aerys and his life to the young prince.

So Aerys learned about the dragonlord Aerys and his sister-wife Elaena, as clever as she was beautiful.  He learned about Aerys’s three sons, Aelyx, Baelon, and Daemion, who then went on to birth Aerion, the father of the Aegon who conquered and brought House Targaryen its glory.

 _Aelyx, Baelon, and Daemion_ , he used to recite whenever he had an idle minute.   _Aelyx, Baelon and Daemion_.  Running in the practice yards, bouncing in his mother’s lap, stroking the teeth of the towering dragon skulls in the throne room, he did everything to the pounding beat of  _Aelyx, Baelon and Daemion._

And now—

“Aelyx, Baelon and Daemion,” he mumbles in between kisses of his beautiful lioness’s alabaster neck.  “Aelyx, Baelon and Daemion.”

“What’s that?” Joanna asks, not bothering to stifle a deep, throaty yawn.  “Being a prince isn’t good enough for you—you had to become a sorcerer too?  That sounds like a spell.”

“Aelyx, Baelon and Daemion.”  Aerys’s lips brush against that spot of her neck where her heartbeat pulses, and he bites.  She tastes sweet and sharp, as though she bathes in peaches.  She sweats during their love-making but all it does is make her glow.   _Like all the gold in Casterly Rock_ , he thinks.

“Your spell is putting me to sleep!”  Joanna giggles and stretches.  Aerys watches her golden skin pull taut over her ribs.  Her tits stay the way they are, plump with their big rosy nipples.  _Lannisters._ They’re fair and fertile, they are, and it’s the  _fertile_ bit he’s here for tonight.

“Lift up,” Aerys says.  He slides a pillow under her hips and rubs her nub in slow circles.  She sighs.  Her cunt is sloppy with his seed and slick from her arousal and if he wasn’t trying to make sure his heir would grow inside her, he’d press his face between her legs and lick and lick and lick his beautiful lioness.

“I don’t want a bastard, I’ve told you,” Joanna says, reaching up to scratch him behind the ears softly, the way he likes after they’ve made love.  Shivers run down his spine; his back arches with pleasure and he rolls atop her once more, stroking the curve of her waist.

“Our Aelyx and Baelon and Daemion won’t be bastards,” Aerys says.  “You’ll be my queen.”

“Will I?”

“You’ll be my queen,” he says against her parted lips.  “Together we’ll ride a golden dragon.  As golden as the mines of Casterly Rock, but a thousand times as beautiful.”

“I thought there were no more dragons.  That’s what my septas always told me…”

Aerys kisses her and kisses her and kisses her and feels his cock growing hard again.  Joanna begins to roll her hips beneath him.  Her thighs slip apart.

“We’ll bring the dragons back,” Aerys promises.  “With our sons, we’ll bring the dragons back.”

II.

 _Aelyx Baelon and Daemion Aelyx Baelon and Daemion_ and Aerys bursts into his useless queen’s bedchamber.  His heart is pounding with anger.   _Aelyx Baelon and Daemion Aelyx Baelon and Daemion_ —

His sister is asleep. 

She  _would_ be, Aerys thinks, stopping to catch his breath in the darkened room.  Once Rhaella was good to him, or so he thinks; there’s so much on his mind these days he can scarcely remember.  Now she sleeps away the nights and skulks away the days, lurking around the Red Keep like a kitchenmaid on her first day rather than the dragon queen that she is.  Aerys has spilled his royal seed— _wasted_ his royal seed—in her womb time after time and it has borne him naught but one son.  Where is his Aelyx?  His Baelon and Daemion?

 _Useless_.

He clumsily lights a candle and instantly feels better as the warmth of the small flame heats his face.  He lights another, and his sister stirs and rolls onto her side.  Her long hair ripples and for one moment he thinks of moonlight on the surface of the old pond at Summerhall; he then sees that she now sleeps in her shift like an old maid, as though to  _ward him off_ , and the moment is lost, the memory gone.

He jumps onto her bed, onto  _her_ , the pain of bone meeting bone only stoking his anger.  She gasps and squeals and he puts one palm over her lips and the other around her throat.  His hands are already shaking.  Sometimes,  _sometimes_ , Rhaella is not the only one who is useless.

“You haven’t given me my  _heirs_.”  He tries to roar like a dragon.  It comes out near a whine.

He feels his sister’s lips struggling under his palm, so he lifts it, wondering what exactly she might have to say for herself. 

“R-Rhaegar,” Rhaella gasps.  “Have you—have you gone mad?  Rhaegar is almost a man grown.”

He slaps her across the face and sees red: the red of his hand on her cheek, the red of her blood on her lip.

“Three sons you were to give me.  Aelyx, Baelon and Daemion.”   _Aelyx Baelon and Daemion Aelyx Baelon and Daemion_ it is as though his thought are suddenly stuck.  It is undignified.  It is not kingly.  But there’s naught he can do about it.

“Aerys, please.”  Rhaella takes his hand in hers.  Her palm is hot, just like his are.  “I don’t know those names.  We have a son.  Our Rhaegar will be a fine ruler someday, he wants so much to be like—”

Aerys slaps her once more.  There are tears in his sister’s violet eyes, now, but the tears do not spill.  He squeezes the cut on her lip.  “Useless cunt.  If you spread your legs half as often as you open your mouth, you’d have given me all the heirs I need.”

Rhaella nods so slightly Aerys can barely see it even though he’s leaning into her face.  It’ll have to do for now; there’s no time to waste.

“Take that off,” Aerys says, gesturing at her shift as he fumbles with the hem of his dressing gown.  “I’ve forgotten what those tits of yours look like.  Gods, I hope they’ve grown.”

“They have, my lord.  After Rhaegar, they—But you know this, Aerys.  I have done my duty, you know I have.”  Rhaella’s voice grows muffled as she pulls the shift over her head, and it’s then he realizes they are growing older.  Her tits sag only slightly, the nipples brown instead of the rosy pink he vaguely remembers them being once, and there are faint purple marks on her stomach and thighs.  He wonders if he looks the same.  He has stopped looking in the mirror.

Aerys reaches out and pulls on the silver curls that nestle between her legs.  “You’re dry as a bone,  _sweet sister_ ,” he sneers, and spits down on her cunt, feeling as though he’s breathing flame.

She stares at him.  There is nothing in her eyes.

His cock’s hard, somehow, from staring at Rhaella’s tits and the marks on her belly that remind him her womb has done its duty for him and can do so again.  He wastes no time in sliding it into her.  Her cunt’s so tight it puts up a fight, and her lips curl, but her eyes still tell him nothing.

He begins to pump in and out, fast and hard like he’s fucking a fist, the way he likes it and the way he’s grown accustomed to going about it.  Rhaella’s silent but she’s growing slick around his cock, even as her cunt clenches tighter, tighter.

“You  _like_ this, don’t you,” Aerys groans.  He takes one of her nipples in his sweating hand and tugs at it, imagining it full and ready to feed his Aelyx, his Baelon, his Daemion.  “You know all you’re good for is giving me my dragons.  You’re finally doing your duty and you  _love_ it, you do.”

He lets go of her nipple and pushes one of her legs up so he can slide into her deeper, and she grimaces.

“Don’t you?”

“Yes, my lord.”  She’s not looking at him.  He pinches her nipple until her violet eyes are on his once more.

“Aerys, please— _please—_ You’re hurting me, Aerys—”

Those words look beautiful spilling out of her lips, pain on her face and in her eyes, reminding him that she is  _his_ and he can do what he likes with her, he can do  _anything_ , he can—

He spurts into her quickly as a boy would, groaning aloud, his head snapping back from the feeling of her womb taking his seed.

He doesn’t want to leave her now that he’s done and they’re covered in sweat and catching their breath.  His sister, his wife, his queen.  She’s naked and claimed underneath him, and he thinks of Aerys the dragonrider before him, flying up into the sky on dragonback with the world spreading out below.

His cock slides out of Rhaella and lolls damp between his legs.  He gives her a smile.

“Keep your legs closed so nothing spills out,” he says to her and helps her slide her thighs together, remembering something from long ago.  “Does my heir feel good inside you?”  The three names have left his head and everything feels slow and sleepy now, as though he’s dreaming a good dream for once and not a nightmare. 

“Yes, my lord.”

“Mmmmm.”  He thinks of asking Rhaella to open her mouth so he can stick his cock in and have her suck him til he’s ready to fuck her again, fuck her harder and longer like the king he is.  Instead, he yawns and sprawls out beside her, draping his arm over her belly.

“Blow out the candles,” he commands.  “I’m tired.”

He falls asleep in his sister’s bed for the first time in years.  He dreams of nothing.

III.

He’s full of fire.  Fingertips heart cock all full of fire.

When he feels the fire in fingertips heart cock he forgets the mildew and mold of the dungeon in— _that place_.  They do not understand they do not understand that his bones are still damp and his skin is still feeling the spots where water dripped, dripped, dripped  _dripped dripped dripped_ down from the stone ceiling

He can’t go near the bath for he hears the  _dripdripdripdrip_ of the water and he can’t go near razors or knives for he sees the glint of steel blades through the bars in the dungeon door.  Who is he?—dragon, king, man,  _fear_ , who is he?

_Who am I?_

It is the past he must think of to remember who he must be  _now_ , and when he thinks of the past he remembers the three names,  _Aelyx Baelon and Daemion_ , and  _Aelyx Baelon and Daemion_ he knows that  _Aelyx Baelon and Daemion_ he must have his heirs who will be  _Aelyx Baelon and Daemion_ loyal to him not like  _Rhaella’s_ useless sons who  _Aelyx Baelon and Daemion_ are scheming in one case and  _Aelyx Baelon and Daemion_  too young to be of use in the other—

He needs his heirs,  _he needs them_ , he needs the sons of the dragonrider so he may be as great as his Targaryen blood allows them to be, but Rhaella is good for nothing, and so—

It’s his Hand he chooses, his strong, mighty, chiseled Hand, his Hand who  _betrayed_ him but his Hand who has greatness inside.   _The lion is greater than the dragon.  But the dragon will become greater than the lion._

His old friend’s touches always came slower and less frequently than Aerys would have liked, but tonight he recoils from the sight of what  _that place_ has done to him, and Aerys laughs and laughs and laughs at the Hand recoiling from his king.

_When he’s carrying my heirs he won’t be able to do that he’ll be by my side he’ll be mine_

 “This is ridiculous—you’ve gone mad—sit down and let me run your damned kingdom before you run it into the ground with your fantasies—imagine if the Small Council heard what you’re spouting—”

 _Shhh, shhh,_ and he’s coaxing Tywin to hardness, trying hard to be gentle and keep his nails away from that thick veined lion’s cock that he  _loves loves loves_ and he strokes Tywin’s hard stomach, wondering if Aelyx will grow in there tonight, or Baelon, or Daemion.

He coaxes and kisses the golden bristle of Tywin’s whiskers and even kisses his long, flowing mane and Tywin Tywin Tywin lays there just like Rhaella always would, his legs spread his body rigid his his his cock limp his breathing shaky

“Get me the oil,” he snaps, and Tywin reaches for the bottle without a sound while Aerys rubs his cock up and down up and down the warm cleft of Tywin’s taut ass, imagine his cock sliding into that hole, pumping it full of seed, seed that would bear heirs—

And suddenly  _that place_ is in his mind again and he goes soft.  Limp as Tywin’s cock.  He does not want to think of  _that place._ He does not need to think of  _that place_.  But he has, and he’s gone soft, his cock tiny and not kingly and shriveling against his thigh.

“Your grace.  Please.”  Tywin’s voice is cold.  “Go get some rest.  Gather your wits.  This nonsense cannot be good for you.  Get some rest and cut those bloody nails.  You near made me a eunuch tonight.”

His old friend does not want his heirs.  He will never have his Aelyx, his Baelon and his Daemion.  He will never be as great as Aerys the dragonrider of old.

In his mind, Aerys takes his dream of his heirs and his dragons in his hands.  He crumples it.  He throws it into a blazing fire.

The dream burns, and he remains.


End file.
